Hester(90)

“There’s Captain Derby now.” Nell points with her chin toward an aging man dressed in a long, flowered gown and a small Chinese cap. He looks foolish, and when Stephen stifles a laugh, I can’t help but smile, too.

Captain Derby is followed by the lieutenant governor, who wears an ornate red military uniform and a pompous hat adorned with feathers. Captain Silas wears a sash I decorated with his family crest, and he does not look my way. I see three ladies wearing gloves that I made, one in a long brocade gown with turquoise-blue birds that match the peacock feathers I stitched upon her gloves. I have not worn my Adam and Eve shawl, but as I look around the room, I’m more sure than ever that my work is very special. Among Salem’s finest people, Felicity’s threats and warnings seem small, and I wonder at the power I have given her. Perhaps Nat’s idea was right all along: to reveal my handiwork at just this moment might have been my triumph.

After the captains and leading merchants come Salem’s wealthiest proprietors—the chaise-and-coach maker is followed in the procession by the genteel shopkeepers Messieurs Choate and Downing, whose wives wear dresses made at Felicity’s shop. I recognize the yellow gown with wide sleeves that I was working on the day Nat came looking for me. Behind them, Felicity Adams keeps step with a man I don’t recognize. Abigail follows behind on her beau’s arm, floating in a burgundy gown with a scooped neck and tight sleeves, the pumpkin shawl around her shoulders.

I watch for Nat, sick that he will come and sick that he will not. Still, I’m startled when at last he walks through the gate, cheeks blazing. He looks uneasy in his wool cloak and is scowling at the ground. Two uncles walk in front of him, and he has a younger sister on his arm. The uncles are laughing. Robert, who cultivates a fruit orchard, is juggling three golden apples as he walks. Louise is delicate and pretty, with a ring of dark hair and pale skin like Nat’s own. She looks at Nat and speaks what can only be words of encouragement. I watch her lips and it seems that she’s said, “It is a dance, only a dance.”



* * *



WHEN THE SCORES of banquet goers have entered the hall, a side entrance is open to those of us who have bought a ticket only for cider and music. Stephen leads us through the door to the cider station, where sheer curtains and a long table separate our modest fare from Salem’s finest. The hall is decorated with squash and pumpkins and fall colors, all aglow with candlelight as if a harvest moon is rising.

As I sip the sweet drink and settle myself, I overhear men talking on the other side of the curtain. Their faces are masked by the sheer divider, but I see enough to know they are men of fine dress and comport. They wear ruffled shirts and elegant tailcoats and stand with their champagne and Madeira in fancy glasses, their chests puffed out.

“The fool was sick with the poppy and whatever else they gave him,” says a gentleman.

“Darling paid off his debts—you can be sure the man won’t show his face here again,” another man says.

Nell comes up and takes my hand. She moves as if to speak and I purse my lips, waving a finger toward the shadows of the men. It is a gesture so small, no one else would notice. Side by side, I know she can see that I am rounded, that my body is changing. But still she has said nothing.

“… would think he would be sailing to the Far East again,” one of the men is saying.

“… satisfied bringing sugar and rum to and from the islands.”

Nell gives me a questioning look. She is quiet tonight, somehow frail in a way I have never noticed. I wonder if she could be expecting a child, too.

“… a dirty triangle of trade, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”

Their voices have woven together like stitching that is tight and purposeful.

“The British do whatever will bring the most gold, then claim to be the better men because they’ve outlawed slavery,” another says.

Through the curtains I can make out Mercy and the other women laying out platters, going to and from the kitchen with plates piled high with roasted vegetables and colorful yams. Nat is beyond them, standing with his back against the wall. The musicians have begun to play a dancing tune.

“Darling must have a woman in a port,” a deep-voiced man says.

A stab of jealousy surprises me.

“… buying a schooner,” says the other.

I’ve seen notice in the newspaper that Captain Darling is in want of a smaller schooner and the offer of a price. The men say something more about the captain, but Nell is at my shoulder.

“Come, Isobel.” She draws me away from the curtain.

“Swift sailing, nimble…” The reply fades as we move away from the men. “Married to…”

Their words confuse me. I try to draw in a breath and find that I am full. I try to exhale and find I have no air. My heart is racing and I push my way toward the door.

“Isobel—”

I plunge into the autumn night, pull off my veil, and gulp at the cool, dark air as if I am drowning. There are torches burning along the perimeter of the yard. Children are on the brick walk tossing apples and eating doughnuts that Mr. Remond has sent out to them. They are carefree, joyful.

“Isobel—you’re giving me a fright.” Nell is beside me, her hand gripping my arm.

Behind the children I see some of Salem’s poorest men lined up for doughnuts, too. I’ve gone twice now with Mercy to the almshouse and seen the worst that poverty rends here in the New World. The faces of the hungry are familiar to me, their forlorn postures, gaunt cheeks, thin arms.